Some well needed hugs
by Papaverus
Summary: You're home alone. An average internet addicted teenager, apathetic and depressed when you get an unexpected visit from some very special friends. So I wrote this to cheer myself up. It's supposed to be from any random teenager's point of view. I'm definitely gonna finish it, it's just taking a bit longer than I thought... Anyway I hope it cheers you guys up too! Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

So here you are once again, huddled up in this filthy hive you call a bedroom, immersing yourself in fiction. You've given up trying to be special, creative or different. Turns out being a female nerd doesn't actually mean you have attractive guys in hipster glasses falling at your feet and buying you Star Wars memorabilia. Damn, life is disappointing.

See the thing is; you're stuck in a bit of a rut. Bullies, friends and self-loathing have beaten you down into the melodramatic teenager you swore you'd never become, and the huge cliché of this whole situation is making your head hurt.

Creativity has been your 'thing' for as long as you can remember- but no more! There isn't enough room for passions, and nobody is around to nurture your artistic self. Teachers don't have time for you, parents don't have time for you, YOU don't have time for you. Your time is for Psychology reports and English essays, and _nothing else matters_. Work has to be done, even if it kills you.

Creating- drawing, painting, imagining, sewing- is like Oxygen. You need it to live. If you don't get a steady feed of it every day, life drips out of you like water from a leaky faucet.

The problem is you are really, _really_ bad at creating. Bad at everything, in actual fact, and that's why you've locked yourself away in your head. When you say 'creativity' has always been your thing, what you mean is _imagining_ has. That is your one skill, one you dedicate hours to. You just fail at every other skill that could possibly be used to express the bountiful treasure trove of wonders buried deep somewhere in the sands of your 'mind palace'. And _that's_ what is getting you down: The pressure of a million ideas wanting to claw their way out of your head.

It's unbearable.

Drawing used to relieve the pressure, but not a single doodle you can muster up seems to turn out right. You open your laptop only to be bombarded by an onslaught of beautiful artwork. Your tumblr dash is teeming with 'quick sketches' and 'speed paints', so effortlessly created and then discarded like wrappers on a pavement. Wrappers which seem divine to the eyes of someone ungifted like you.

So you try writing. Ha! Your thoughts seem so coherent in your head, yet the sloppy paragraphs you churn out sound like a mixture of a drunken suicide note and the ravings of an intellectually impaired madman. In other words; total bullsh*t.

Reading just makes you feel worse about your lack of writing skills, and you managed to play the guitar for about two weeks until your impatience and feeling of incompetence stepped in and told you it was time to hit the showers.

The next thing was gaming. If a twelve year old on Call of Duty could gain some kind of strange dominance, than surely you could find solace via the Xbox. You hadn't played a console game since you were eight, but you bought a few open world adventure games and dedicated a good amount of time to improving. You liked exploring and customizing your character, finding treasure and hidden caves and the little quirks like the fact you could pick up wooden bowls and interact with almost anything. Little did you know; when you went back to school your friends would ridicule you for how low level you were. Ugh, letting yourself get so het up about all this is just pathetic.

So there you were. Again. You had exhausted all your resources for teenage self-esteem. Except there was one thing you hadn't tried, one world you hadn't eagerly plunged into: Anime.

You had friends who went on about Anime, it didn't really make sense to you. Was it supposed to be funny? Cool? What _genre_ is this stuff? Well, vacantly staring at a screen is one of the things you do best, so you might as well put Japanese cartoons on the screen you're gazing at.

Two episodes of Fullmetal Alchemist and you were completely hooked.

Any of it. ALL of it! You guzzled them up. Drama. Fantasy. Romance. Humour. This was it! This was your vice! Finally! You couldn't get enough. And then you found Hetalia.

They were like the friends you never had. After you'd watched every episode, bought every dvd, you moved on to fanfiction. So many stories! You plundered the rich selection of stranger's fantasies, each home made tale was the equivalent of gorging yourself on chocolate and ice cream. Which you often did while watching Hetalia. And then it came back. That spark.

You wanted to _draw _again! And write! You didn't care if your pictures looked awful, or reading your stories made you wince, it felt like progress!

But then of course all good things have to come to an end.

Every day after school you would do the same thing. Shower, food, Hetalia. The more time you spent with your door locked, curtains drawn and curled up with your laptop, the better. Eventually the buzz started to drizzle away.

Inspiration for drawings crashed to a halt. Attempting a fanfic always ended up with you hurling your notebook against a wall. It stopped making you happy, so you fell back into a state of sheer apathy. Nothing mattered, nothing will ever matter. You didn't care about anything or anyone. Life was gradually being tinted a sickly beige colour. That was until tonight.

Huddled in pyjamas you should have washed weeks ago, with nothing but the cold blue light of your laptop screen illuminating your face; you were the living embodiment of sloth and gluttony. Your eyes barely perceived the images you were scrolling through, everything looked and felt so… _samey. _

The house was empty tonight, your parents wouldn't be back until tomorrow morning. _You should have a house party! _The ridiculousness of that statement brought a rare smile to your lips. _How long has it been since I've had a friend to come over to my house? Months…?_

You were slightly distracted from your monotonous ponderings by a sound drifting through the window. You pulled your headphones off. _Was I even listening to music? _It sounded like a group of guys walking up your driveway. This was perfectly normal, considering the neighbours on either side of you frequently had loud, irritating parties which lasted long into the night. _Well this is just great. _

_Oh what does it matter anyway! Just be happy someone else is capable of enjoying themselves, not being a bitter little bitch like you!_

Now that you spent most of your time on your own, you constantly bickered with yourself. Just pathetic, really. _Well I might as well do some eavesdropping, since I've got nothing better to do…_ You pressed your face against the cool glass of the window, peering into the darkness beyond. You could hear muffled voices emanating from below;

"_Aww this is gonna be TOTALLY SWEET! I can't wait to see the look on her face! I'M SO EXCITED!"_

Ugh probably talking about some pretty slut who's going to the party. _See this is why you have no friends; you hear voices and just start throwing the word slut around. Stop being so mean!_ Ok so maybe you were being a little bit bitchy. _Hmmf, a bit…_

Before you could argue with yourself some more, you heard more voices wafting up from the cool black night.

"_Vould you QUIET DOWN! Do you vant her to hear you?!" _Well that certainly sounded menacing. The voice was weirdly familiar too, although you couldn't put your finger on where you'd heard it before. _Maybe we should check it out, this 'slut' could be in trouble… _No, I'm sure she'll be fine.

The mysterious voices had faded away, and you felt mildly disappointed. _Is that wrong of me? To wish some tragic thing would happen to someone I don't even know, just so I could get an evening's entertainment from eavesdropping? _Definitely. You sighed at your weak morals and went back to mindlessly surfing the web.

And then there was a knock at the door.

"Who on earth…?" you muttered to yourself. _Oh shit! _Your paranoia piped in. _Oh god this is karma for being mean! Something terrible is going to happen! They were talking about YOU! YOU'RE THE SLUT! THEY'RE GOING TO COME IN HERE AND-_

ENOUGH!

You composed yourself, took a deep breath and headed downstairs to open the door. You just reached the last step and entered the hallway when the front door was flung open and nine men burst in. _They don't look like a violent gang of thieves… _To your surprise, you had to supress a giggle. They had all fallen in on top of each other, and were moaning and griping, yelling at each other to move. It was pretty comical. _No, it's downright hilarious. _

You felt something. A weird little pit had formed in your stomach, and it reminded you a lot of anticipation. _I just don't know why they seem so familiar! What are they even DOING in my house…?_

You stood there for a minute, analysing the gaggle of strangers fighting their way to their feet. It was hard to distinguish each person, they seemed like a tangled mass of limbs and heads, but there were definitely nine. Two of them had struggled out of the rabble and were yelling in each other's faces. You couldn't see them properly but you could discern one was tall with long, sandy blonde hair, and the other was shorter and-

The tall one abruptly shoved the shorter man, and they proceeded to collapse back into the pile, scraping at clawing at each other. A very tall man stood calmly behind the groups of lunatics, but he was mostly hidden behind the doorframe. It was strangely comforting just to stay there and observe them larking about. They didn't seem to be doing any serious damage to one another, just all bickering like little kids. The whole atmosphere reminded you of your 7th birthday party.

_Hey are you SMILING?! _You realised you'd been grinning to yourself for a good two minutes. Maybe you should actually step forward and ask what they want…

Realization came crashing down on you. It was the smallest thing you noticed, even though there were much more obvious signs. The littlest guy of the group was sprawled out beneath his much larger companions, and was hammering his fists on the floor and crying out like a child having a tantrum. Your eyes were drawn to the right side of his hair, where a solitary auburn curl protruded, bouncing around as he shook his head.

_No. Am I dreaming? This… I must be… This can't be… I…_

"I-Italy…?" you whispered, barely audible.


	2. Chapter 2

The noise stopped. Everyone hastily scrambled to their feet in silence, and formed a little line in front of you. You saw every face now, and recognized them as thoroughly as you would your own. Beaming like an idiot, America stood tall and proud in the centre. Peeking out nervously from behind America's arm was Canada, who gave you a weak smile as your gaze passed over him. You could only gape in astonishment. France smirked down at you, leaning seductively in the doorway. Britain was looking as presentable and chirpy as always, even though 30 seconds beforehand he'd been on the floor wrestling with France. Standing in a reserved fashion to the side were Japan and Russia, in from of whom stood Italy who was bouncing up and down with excitement, earning him a hard elbow to the ribs from China.

But you barely saw them; your eyes were fixed on the stern, blonde man standing only 2 metres in front of you. _J-just six feet away…_ You realised that you hadn't moved an inch for the whole duration of this silence, and you began to shake slightly. Your knees were quivering, and you could feel the tears starting to slip from your eyes. _They're here. He's here… how? Why? Of all the lonely teenagers in the world… why me?_ You stared into Germany's perfect aqua eyes, all sorts of emotions bubbling up to the surface. Tears were falling at an alarming rate down your cheeks now, though you remained completely quiet.

"Everything is going to be alright, schätzchen." Germany promised with a reassuring smile.

And with that your control was shattered. Your knees gave way just as you were about to sprint to Germany, and you ended up lunging forwards and crushing him in the tightest hug you had ever given. You sobbed loudly, burying your face in his chest as he squeezed you back equally tight. "_You're going to be fine_". He murmured in your ear. He was a good foot and a half taller that you, your head barely reached his shoulders. _Is this a dream? A hallucination? Did I die in my room, or fall into a coma, or…?_ You decided it didn't matter. Just this encounter, this hug, seeing these characters with your own eyes felt like enough to fuel your passion and lust for life forever. Whatever this was, it was perfect, and you weren't about to spoil it by being logical.

"HEY! What about me bro? I give wicked hugs!" America shouted.

A broad smile spread across your face as you broke away from Germany and enveloped America in your arms. You could feel his deep laugh reverberating through his chest. He smelled like leather and aftershave, and when he hugged you back it felt like he was trying to crush your bones.

"Told ya!" he beamed, releasing you from grasp. You looked across the whole group again, and your mind was flooded with all the thoughts you'd had for these characters. All the consolations you'd wanted to give. All the reassurances, promises, comforts. You glanced over at France._ All the punches to the face…_ You had a sudden wild, crazy idea. You bounced over to France and smacked him hard on the arm. He gasped in pain.

"Chèrie! What was that for?!" his look of total bewilderment made you giggle uncontrollably.

"For being so mean to Britain!" You turned and gave the Brit an equally hard wallop.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, "And there I was thinking you were on MY side!"

"Well I think both of you deserved a whack for being so nasty to each other!" You chortled, dashing over to Britain and embracing him strongly. "Just for the record, Britain, I think tea and scones are DELICIOUS!" With that he hugged you back tightly, saying "Finally! Somebody with a sense of taste!" which was answered with many outraged exclamations from everyone, especially France.

"Mon amour I am INSULTED!"

Britain crossed his arms across his chest, smirking widely. "Why, because you've finally met someone with enough brains not to shovel down your slop?"

France's whole body jerked back, as if his entire form was repelled by the Brit's statement. "Coming from you?! My crepes and a glass of wine could top your tasteless cooking any day!"

"Well that settles it!" Britain bellowed, marching into the kitchen and sorting through the cupboards.

"OOOH are we having PANCAKES?!" America hollered.

"I believe that, well, if we are going to have pancakes, then uh maybe I should make them, because my pancakes are most certainly the best. Or at least that's what I'm told…" Canada blurted, instantly blushing as eyes turned to him.

"Who are you?" squeaked the fluffy polar bear clutched in Canada's arms.

This was a soft spot for you. Numerous fanfictions depicting a depressed Canada on the verge of suicide, unacknowledged and lonely, flitted through your brain and the words had tumbled out of your mouth before you knew what you were saying…

"HE IS CANADA AND HE IS BEAUTIFUL AND IF YOU EVER FORGET HIS NAME AGAIN SO HELP ME GOD I WILL CUT YOUR FURRY GENITALS OFF!" you screeched at the bear, who stared back at you with terrified eyes. Canada gawked at you, equally frightened.

"W-wow I'm sorry Can, I just… wish everyone wouldn't forget about you so much."

He grinned shyly, "Hahaha it's ok, but what are we, ah, going to doing about the little pancake situation?"

"If anyone is making pancakes, it should definitely be me" announced China.

"Ugh the dry little pancakes you make would better serve as handkerchiefs, rather than food!" said Britain. This sparked a huge debate over which kind of pancakes were the best, and who was going to make them. Canada quickly got intimidated by all the yelling so America dutifully stepped in and screamed at everyone for him (being a great lover of Canadian style pancakes). Italy had sided with France for crepes, and China was left on his own to defend his cooking style. Canada, America, Britain, France, Italy and China proceeded to have a huge shrieking battle. All because of pancakes.

The party had moved into your cramped little kitchen, which opened out into the equally tiny dining room. The six-way pancake fight had been confined to the kitchen, and you sat amused on the little couch in the dining area, listening with happy ears to the tremendous caterwaul. You had forgotten how much you missed this sort of activity. Christmas and trips to relative's houses had become so tedious as you'd grown older, but when you were a child you loved to listen in on the clamour. Lost in thought, you hadn't noticed that Japan had occupied the space next to you. You gave a little yelp of surprise when you saw him, and that put the faint hint of a smile on his lips. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

You looked up into his warm brown eyes. "How could I not be? This is just wonderful". He looked over to the gaggle of countries howling in the kitchen, then back at you, his eyebrows raised.

"Yes, indeed. Wonderful…" You both laughed. Sitting there with Japan was relaxing, just his calm demeanour seemed to soothe your worries.

"So, uhhh… How long are you guys gonna be staying for?" you asked, not knowing what to expect as an answer. This whole thing felt so real, and you had been putting off thinking about how long it would be before you returned to reality. It was an amazing feat that you had managed not to start fretting about that already, considering how much you usually overthought things. It was of course completely impossible for them to stay for an extended amount of time; you couldn't hide nine men in your closet. You didn't even have a closet. Even if you could… The happiness you had gained from watching Hetalia had gone, and now you felt a huge hole where that joy used to be. How was anything supposed to come to an end without taking some part of you with it?

"We will be staying for the rest of the evening, I think" Japan answered. You felt your heart drop a little bit. But that means I've only got a few more hours…

Well that would have to do. Hallucination or not, a few hours with your best fictional friends was a tremendous blessing.

America poked his head around the door. "We have decided to make ALL the pancakes! AHH THIS IS GONNA BE SO AWESOME!"

"And I'm making tea!" came Britain's muffled call from the kitchen. America opened the door fully to let a flustered Canada out, and the dining room was filled with sight, sound and smell of three variations of pancakes being prepared. You watched, fascinated as China tossed and fried various exotic looking ingredients in a wok you were sure didn't belong to you. _The others are using flour and stuff from my kitchen, how the hell did China get all this stuff?! Where did it come from?_ You looked up to ask Japan about China's apparent ability to miraculously produce food, and found that Russia, Germany and Canada had come over the couch. Russia stood, placid as ever while Germany perched on the edge of the couch next to Japan. Canada remained awkwardly in front of you, shuffling his weight from one leg to the other not knowing where to go.

"There's some more room next to me if you want to sit down, Canada" you said timidly. The awkwardness he was emanating seemed to be contagious.

"Uh ok" he replied, equally apprehensive, and delicately manoeuvred himself so he was squeezed next to you. It was a really titchy sofa.

Germany opened his mouth to speak, but there was a cry from the kitchen. You hopped up to see what was going on.

"It should be self-raising flour, frog!" Britain yelled. Wow he really doesn't know how to cook… French style pancakes were one of the few things you knew how to make, and they were made using plain flour. _I don't know why I feel so smug, I mean, it's Britain. It's not exactly hard to out-cook him._ France looked like he was about to vomit.

"What is wrong with you?! I will not let these poor people suffer because of your absurd ideas!" France took food very seriously, and seemed personally insulted that Britain would try to interfere with is cooking.

"Oh so you like plain flour that much?! Well see who's absurd! HAVE AT YOU!" Britain shouted, at which point he emptied an entire bag of plain flour over Frances head, turning his golden hair a snowy white. France gave the high pitched shriek of a little girl, and the whole group erupted in bouts of explosive laughter. You could hardly contain yourself as Italy ushered a traumatised France out of the kitchen.

"My beautiful hair! What am I to do?" France was actually crying, the tears leaving dark trails down his flour coated face. You snorted as you tried desperately to contain a fit of giggles.

"It's ok I'll get him cleaned up, you go back and take care of the pancakes Italy. We don't want Britain stepping in" you grinned.

"Si!" Italy nodded his head frantically and bounced back into the kitchen. You lead the weeping France by the hand up to your bathroom and gave him a towel. "You can wash your hair in the sink, but don't get water everywhere!" you told him. He proceeded to strip his shirt of and splash water onto his face and neck.

"Wow, um, ok?" you asked, staring wide-eyed at his chest. His toned muscles were completely perfect. _Well it's France, what were you expecting?_ He smiled slyly down at you.

"I see what you're doing little girl," he smirked "take a good long look chèrie, I know you want to."

You gulped. Trickles of water dripped down his sculpted form. He stood, hands on his slim hips, still smirking down at you. Your hand twitched. _Oh god, what are you doing, missy? This is not one of those lemon fanfictions you've been reading. You have guests downstairs. Don't even think about it._ Oh sh*t! Do they know about the fanfiction?

You decided that while stroking France's marvellous torso would certainly be entertaining, it probably wouldn't be appropriate behaviour for a dinner party. Or rather, a pancake party.

"And VHAT exactly is going on here?!"

**AN: **(Am I allowed to do an author's note thingy?) so just letting people know that for some reason the italics weren't showing up and it was freaking me out THERE ARE ITALICS I STRESS WORDS AND HIGHLIGHT TRAILS OF THOUGHT HONESTLY I CAN WRITE I SWEAR.


	3. Chapter 3

"I- I ah, was just, France was, um, and then he… and I…" you stuttered, Germany's disapproval washing over you like a wave.

"Oh-hoh-hoh-hoh! The lady was just admiring my exquisite body, nothing to worry your pretty little German head about…" France winked, sweeping a lock of sodden, honey-coloured hair from his face.

Germany only scowled, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you from the bathroom. He roughly escorted you downstairs to re-join the group. At the foot of the stairwell he bent down and whispered sternly in your ear:

"I vould be careful around him, if I vere you…"

His hot breath on your ear made you shiver. You felt yourself beginning to blush.

"I wasn't… he… he was just being _France_. I wasn't going to do anything…" you babbled. _You've messed this up now. As if he's going to believe excuses from a blushing little bitc-_

"It'z alright, I believe you" Germany spoke softly. You felt oddly smug that you'd proved yourself wrong. The two of you walked back into the dining room, just in time for America to storm in and declare that the array of pancakes were nearly ready.

You and the countries proceeded to set nearly all of your plates and glasses down on the table, and eagerly await the arrival of food. _There is going to be a heck of a lot of washing up to do…_

France came down stairs, with clean hair and a covered chest, and dashed into the kitchen to check Britain hadn't massacred his precious crepes. China, America and Italy finally emerged from the steaming kitchen, each carrying by a huge serving platter of pancakes. China had astoundingly found the time to make numerous fillings and appetisers to accompany his pancakes, and France was currently fetching a variety of sweet condiments for his own food. He came back into the dining room, arms laden with Nutella jars, three different types of syrup and some fruit. The food was lain on the table and everyone picked up a plate and began to help themselves.

The feasting went on for an hour. America wouldn't stop talking, even while he was shoving pancakes through his lips. Maple syrup and hot melted butter dripped from his chin as he gulped down huge mouthfuls of food. France laughed and slurped wine as he ate, smarmy and confident as ever. You and Britain had drunk a whole pot of tea between you in a matter of minutes, and once the Brit had sipped the last mouthful from his mug, he leapt up and hastily made another pot. China and Japan ate delicately, unlike Germany who was cramming food into his mouth almost as violently as America.

Everyone talked and laughed and joked as they waited for the whole company to finish their food. After everybody had eaten their fill (Italy had remarkably consumed more than everyone else combined, and fallen asleep on Japan's shoulder, despite the dignified introvert's protests) Canada and Russia started taking plates and cups into the kitchen. Canada even started running some hot water in the sink, but you summoned him back.

"You can wash the dishes later, come have some fun" you told him, taking him by the arm before he could refuse. America pulled out an extravagant looking iPod, and after a lot of fumbling around with some portable speakers he eventually surrendered the technology to Japan who deftly set up the little sound system. Gaudy, out of date pop music started pumping through your house and, to your amusement, nearly every country was on their feet dancing.

Ignoring the disapproving glare from Germany, France whisked you into his arms and started twirling you about.

"You look beautiful tonight, ma petite chatte." He breathed. You glanced down at your stained t-shirt and scraggy pyjama bottoms, then back into his charming gaze.

"I think you might be over doing the flattery, sir…" you mumbled. He laughed merrily at your formality and you found that you were sniggering too. France's hands wound tighter around your waist, pressing your bodies closer together. The sly, inviting grin he gave you was a little disconcerting.

"Hey! How come nobody ever wants to dance with _me_?"

You stepped away from France slightly and turned your head to find Britain pouting sulkily. When your eyes returned to France, you found he had one eyebrow raised questioningly.

"Are you _really _going to leave my pleasant company for _that _oaf?" France murmured under his breath.

"Sorry" You said sweetly, slipping out of the alluring man's grasp and prancing away towards Britain. _Wow I really am enjoying myself, aren't I? _You hadn't felt this energetic in a _long_ time. It was refreshing to feel excitement and glee flowing through you. _Make it last. Make every second of this count…_ your time in this peculiar paradise was ebbing away.

"I'm sure somebody has already informed you to be watchful of that lecherous snake, but I will say so again. He has a simply _devilish_ air about him…" Britain narrowed his eyes in France's direction.

"Oh, Britain, you worry too much…" You said reassuringly. France seemed innocent enough, just a bit… sensual.

"Just watching out for you, love." Britain's smile was a lot friendlier. Dancing with him was hysterical, however. He was so clumsy and uncoordinated; it was like dancing awkwardly with an uncle or grandfather at a wedding. He tripped over your feet and nearly sent you both toppling into Canada, at which point he decided to call it quits, and handed you over America.

"I think maybe I'm not the best person to be dancing with…" Britain said, blushing apologetically. You grinned and kissed him on the cheek, making him blush an even brighter shade of crimson, before spinning off into America's arms.

You danced your way through all the characters. Canada swayed with you gently, while Italy careened around the room until you were both out of breath. _Where does he get all this energy?!_ You decided it must be from the ludicrous portion of pancakes he had eaten. Dancing with Russia was terrifying, as it felt like any minute he would reach out and crush your spine with his bare hands. 

By the time you had reached Japan you were getting tired.

"Has this cheered you up?" Japan asked bluntly, staring at you emphatically with his soft, chestnut eyes.

"Very much so…" you answered. An ominous feeling was nagging at you. _It's all going to be over soon… They're going to leave and everyone will think you're crazy. You probably are…_

You sighed. Japan could guess your thoughts, and when he next spoke his voice was filled with kindness and sympathy:

"Do not fear the end of good things; enjoy them while they are here. Don't waste the present by fretting about the future…"

His words comforted you, and you realised there was one person you desperately needed to dance with.

Germany was sat, seeming rather rigid, on the little couch. He watched you carefully as you approached, scrutinizing you with his icy azure gaze. You stopped in front of him and held your hand out.

"Dance with me?" You inquired, feeling a lot less bold than you had around the others.

"I cannot dance, liebling." His harsh accent sent tremors shimmering across your spine.

"Why not…?" You asked tentatively, a tad anxious of his answer.

The German chortled at your nervous tone, "Because I dance vorse than Britain does…" he smiled broadly.

"Just this once, please. It's the last chance I'll ever get…" you begged, looking up at him with a forlorn, pleading expression.

He sobered, and slowly stood up.

"As you vish; though don't say I didn't varn you…" He smiled again, and it sent a little burst of happiness coursing through you.

Germany clutched you tightly in his firm grip, winding his arms around your arms and waist. The two of you slow danced round in a stunted circle, cramped by the furniture and general tininess of your house. The rest of the party had moved to the living room, although some music still spilled through the door. The faintness of the music made you feel so _distant_. Snuggled against Germany, your head resting lightly on his chest, you felt completely secure in this secluded, perfect version of your dining room. Your anxieties had melted away into nothing.

When the dance had morphed into the pair of you simply swaying smoothly to and fro, Germany gently pulled you down to sit on the couch. You leaned sleepily against him, his arm tightly coiled around you. Everything felt so blissful, but the question had been frolicking on the tip of your tongue for the whole of this wondrous evening.

"Why are you all here, Germany?" you asked hesitantly.

"Because you needed us to be here" he replied, his tone was strangely matter of fact, as if it were perfectly normal for fictional characters to crop up and start an insane pancake banquet at a lonely teenager's house.

You needed a better answer.

"But how? How can you possibly be here? What force brought you to me? And why me? Why not someone else? _Anyone _else?" you felt tears pricking the corners of your eyes, "Have you done this for other people? Is that what you do, just go around having gatherings and-"

"You are vondering what makes you so special." Germany stated.

It wasn't a question.

"Yes" You whispered.

A solitary teardrop fled your eye and trickled aimlessly down your face.

Germany bent down and tenderly kissed the tear from your cheek. Sitting back, he stared deep into your eyes. You lost yourself for a moment, peering up into the brilliant cerulean orbs.

"Sometimes, the things vee need most find a vay of getting to us. The vorld is far more complicated than you know. I cannot explain vhy you and not another, only that vee are genuinely here for you alone. It is a strange thing to comprehend, significance, so you must trust vhat I say next…"

He paused, you were struggling to choke back the sobs now. He cupped your face in his hands and when he spoke it felt like his words had somehow penetrated the deepest, most concealed part of your soul.

"You are going to be fine, liebling"

He held you tightly as you wept. You didn't feel upset, just… _overwhelmed_. When your tears had subsided you looked up at the country who had travelled here to fix your broken spirit. He smiled kindly down at you and brushed a stray curl of hair away from your face.

"I'm sleepy…" You murmured.

Germany tensed. The music in the other room stopped at once. The rest of the guests came stumbling in and formed a little circle around you and the couch.

"W-what's wrong?" you stammered, fear seeping back into your mind.

"This-a means we have to go…" Italy said, hazel eyes brimming with pity.

"Go to sleep, we will wait here with you while you drift off…" Japan said. You didn't want to sleep, and it made no sense why you were so exhausted out of the blue. _Time to go…_

You leaned to your left side, curling up in Germany's lap. America perched on your right side, delicately stroking your hair. Canada came forward and held your hand, while Japan knelt in front of you, softly muttering what sounded like a lullaby in Japanese. All the countries crowded around and whispered their sweet farewells.

You could feel yours eyes closing, suddenly your eyelids became like lead weights. _No… I want… to stay…_

But you knew this was the only way.

_Better I don't let this memory turn sour. Better it stays as this perfect moment forever._

A luscious, silky darkness began to envelope you. You heard a voice, you couldn't discern its origin but it sounded _so_ familiar;

"_You're going to be fine"_

And then your conscious thoughts were swallowed into the softy inky oblivion.


	4. Chapter 4

It was late morning when you woke, sunlight streamed in through the open curtains and doused your face in a warm golden glow. You could hear the clattering of dishes being washed. _Where am I? _You gently pushed yourself up, recognising the supple blue velvet which grazed past your fingers. _I'm on the couch? In the dining room? How did I get here…? _This all seemed very surreal.

"So you're finally awake…"

Your mother stood in the kitchen, washing a huge stack of plates.

"What on earth did you _eat_ last night?" She continued, "did you order takeout? Why did you use so many plates?"

You had no idea.

"Uh, I don't remember. Maybe I was sleepwalking?" You offered with an impish grin, hoping a jovial tone would get you off the hook.

"Well look at that! I haven't seen you smile in a while! Have you finally decided to stop being such a miserable teenager?" Your mother laughed, and you laughed right along with her. _Why do I feel so chipper? I'm never this enthusiastic. Hmmf. _

Whatever the cause was, you felt glad.

"Hey, how about we go see a movie today or something? Get you some nice new sketch books? You haven't drawn in a while, so I thought maybe you'd run out of proper paper…"

You spent the rest of the morning making plans for a trip out. When you'd done with the organising, you slipped upstairs and tidied your room top to bottom. That took you a good hour, but you felt extremely satisfied once you'd brushed out all the metaphorical (and literal) cobwebs. _This might just be because I'm in a good mood, but I feel like this could be a turning point. _

_Everything just seems so much… brighter._

Once your room was sparkling clean, you hopped into the shower, ignoring white smudges all over the bathroom. _Is that flour…? _

_Geez, what were you doing last night? And why can't you remember? _You shrugged it off and enjoyed the sensation of steaming hot water pouring over you. You climbed out and dressed in some freshly ironed jeans and a clean t-shirt.

When you came downstairs you found your mother ready and waiting to go out. You pulled some shoes on and hurried to the car. A sudden wave of anxiety hit you. _What if this feeling doesn't last? What if I go back to being depressed? Just two hours of feeling this good has made me never want to go back…_

You stared up into the perfect aqua sky.

_No… I'm going to be just fine._


End file.
